Friday during lunch time was usually busy at the Flying
Fish restaurant. Situated bang in the middle of the commercial district, it
received an eclectic crowd of office goers from lawyers to bankers to software
engineers.
Maxine, the hostess, adjusted her red shirt and black
skirt, the standard uniform at the Flying Fish. She ran a hand through her hair,
and checked the time. It was ten minutes to noon when the first customer walked
in. A tall, older gentleman who looked too kindly to be a lawyer and too laid
back to be a banker. He must have been an engineer. They were Maxine’s
favorites, especially the older ones who were polite and tipped well.
She flashed him her best smile, with sparkling white
teeth. The man said he needed a table for two. Table 5 was generally considered
the best spot in the house. It was a cozy booth, centrally located with a view
of the bustling streets, as well of the kitchen and most of the restaurant
décor. Maxine liked this man, and seating him there would also preclude
subsequent customers from asking for Table 5, which they frequently did.
She led the soft-spoken gentleman to Table 5, and placed
two menus on the table. She was just about to bring in the cutlery, when she
saw that he had made no attempt to sit down. He looked around the restaurant
and then back at his table with an expression of disappointment.
He addressed her, “Do you have to seat me at the worst
table in the restaurant?”
Maxine nearly dropped the napkins, “I-I’m sorry?” She
stammered.
“I mean really.” He went on. “This is so close to the
bathrooms, and I can get strong smells from the kitchen. And there are so many
other empty tables around.”
She apologized and offered to move him to another table.
“Yes,”
He nodded, and implored to himself. “How come I always get the bad tables? Why
me? Why is it always me?”
*****
After
a productive lunch meeting with his boss at the Flying Fish, Adam quickly
winded up his tasks for the week. He wanted to get an early start on the
weekend.
That
weekend was his son’s fifteenth birthday, and Adam was keen to get something
for him. Benjamin had been studying hard, and his grades had been near perfect.
Adam wanted to reward him for his efforts.
The
one thing that he knew Benjamin loved was video games. Every chance he got, he
would run off to the arcade or his friends’ houses. He was obsessive about his
‘high scores’ and important victories.
So,
on his way back from work, Adam stopped by at the store and picked up the
Nintendo Wii gaming console. He also bought extra controllers, and few other
accessories that the salesman was able to convince him would be useful. If he
was going to buy something to make his son happy, he may as well go all out.
Adam
reached home and saw that Benjamin was at his desk, scribbling away in his
notebook. When he saw his son, Adam felt the urge to reveal his gift
immediately and not wait till Sunday.
“Hey
Ben.”
“Hi
Dad”
“Can you come here for a
minute?”
Ben
put his pencil down and followed his father out.
Adam
beamed “Look, what I got for you, for your birthday.” He pointed towards the shiny,
new gaming console, in its original box, lying majestically on the dining
table.
Benjamin
looked at it and frowned. “Wii? You got me a Wii?”
“Y-yes,”
Adam said.
“C’mon
dad, no one plays on the Wii anymore. Grow up. What I really wanted was an Xbox
360. The Wii is for losers.”
“Oh,”
Adam said. “That’s fine, I guess I can exchange it.”
“Yea,
dad.” Benjamin scowled. “Why is that I always get stuck with yesterday’s uncool
stuff? Why me? Why always me?
*****
Bus
No. 70 rolled to a halt at its appointed stop. It was Sunday evening and
Benjamin was coming from a long session of playing World of Warcraft at his
friend’s house. It had been awesome, they had completed several missions and
jumped a few levels. All in all, it had been a fun birthday.
Ben
was the second last person to step into the bus. The only passenger after him
was this woman in a blood red shirt and black skirt, who was engrossed in her
tablet device. Her eyes bore the weary look of a long, tiring weekend.
Ben
looked around and saw the bus was packed, with only one seat in the front row
empty and a seat way back in the rear. He figured the lady in red wouldn’t
fancy sitting at the back with the weirdos and punk crowd. He turned, gave her
a slight smile and nodded towards the empty seat in front. He started to proceed
to the back, when he saw that the woman stood her ground, with a slow grimace
tainting her expression.
“Oh
hell, the first row.” She muttered to herself, but loud enough that Ben could
hear. “I hate the first row. A cold draft every time the door opens, all entering
passengers look at you.” She continued her muttering. “I’d rather sit at the
end where I can check my messages privately.”
Ben’s
eyes widened. “Oh, I-I’m sorry, there’s a seat at the back if you want.”
“Thanks,”
She gave him a nod and started walking to the back, still muttering under her
breath, “Why do I always get stuck on the bad seats? Why always me?”
*****
